


The Secret to Happiness

by a_rren



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: JUST READ IT IT SOUNDS CONFUSING BUT IT REALLY ISNT ITS JUST SIMPLE, M/M, Other, READ TO FIND OUT WHY ITS SIMPLe, Whoa, beforehand no one has memories of their past life, haha sorry im weird, how about eren?, levi needed eren to remember, no one remembers, reincarnation fic yo, sadness all around, they need a certain thing to jog them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_rren/pseuds/a_rren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This afternoon, while taking a walk in the park, a boy made you cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret to Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to get it out of my system yo
> 
> idk it just popped up and i just /had/ to write it apparently
> 
> its kinda sad i think
> 
> i thought i was over this fandom but then suddenly it pulled me back in and got me writing for it haha
> 
> this is just to break the ice for the fandom so it aint so fancy schmancy
> 
> if there are any errors, please don't hesitate to tell me! I will gladly revise
> 
> enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _This afternoon, while taking a walk in the park, a boy made you cry._

-You read, is an example of the few things in life that cannot make you happy.

 

 

 

You had a habit, and boy, were they hard to break.

 

 

So you find yourself sitting on a park bench, _again,_ a book (“The Secret to Happiness”) in one hand, your reading glasses, in the other.

 

You bring your arm up to check the time,

 

5:30, not bad, it was almost evening so might as well amble.

 

You stand up, placing the paperback down and the glasses in its respective case in your pocket.

 

            You stretch and stare into the vast expanse of the imaginary boundary of afternoon transcending into evening.

 

Life sure is great when you don’t have dumbasses as bosses.

 

 

Life sure is great when you get to take a break once in a while.

 

 

Life sure is great.

 

 

            Or so it instructs to think in the book, at least two positive things you’re thankful for that make life _great._ But, really, the book isn’t helping.

 

   You were born into a family filled with love and care, money enough to get by, and sometimes, change to spare. Life is great. Well, life _should_ be great. But since you were born something always felt, well, _not_ great.

 

 

There was a hole in your heart the moment you came into this world.

 

   Not a _literal_ hole, fortunately. More like, a fictional gap, imaginary space, an illusive, tiny crack that felt disturbingly real and ached somewhere in your chest that sat profoundly on your heart.

 

 

_But why?_

 

 

You pick the book up and make your way through the molten colors of fall, trees varying shades of brown, different intensities, distinctive entities.

 

 

           A couple kissing under a great oak,

 

                    children running around a maple.

 

The scenery was picture perfect yet you still couldn’t find yourself gratified.

 

 

_‘Maybe I should’ve bought a book that taught the art of being contented instead.’_

 

You think for a while then shake your head nimbly.

 

 

_‘No, that’s not the problem.’_

And that’s just it, it’s _not_ the problem, _you know_ it’s not the problem.

 

 

So what _is_ the problem?

 

Why is there an imaginary yet vexingly painful hole in your heart?

 

Why can’t you ever seem to be happy?

 

 

Scattered thoughts racing around your mind through the speed of light sure didn’t prepare you for the moment you fell,

 

 

 _literally_ , of course.

 

 

You extend your arms as smoothly as you can in an attempt to catch yourself and you’re victorious, little scrapes on your palms, but that was it.

 

Now to give the person who bumped into you-accident or not-a piece of your mind.

 

You look up.

 

Suddenly, your mind and previous course of action acrobats to a halt, former thoughts forgotten.

 

Blue?

 

Green?

 

You don’t know what color they exactly are, but what you do know is that it should be illegal to have eyes that vibrant.

 

-As vibrant as they seemed through a guilty, concerned, apologetic expression, at least.

 

 

Panicked mumbles of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Let me help you’ fade into the background and all you’re doing is staring up at the vibrant pair of eyes,

 

They’re familiar.

 

 

Until, of course, you returned to your senses slightly and he extends a hand. You take it and he mumbles an “I’m so sorry” for the nth time,

 

You dust the debris of pavement crumbs you landed on distractedly, staring at him all the while.

 

 

But all of a sudden, you mildly note, he’s also looking at you,

 

 

Eye contact.

 

Dull blue meeting vibrant turquoise.

 

 

 _Turquoise_ , that was it.

 

 

But then, that isn’t the reason you were looking at him in a daze for anymore.

 

Because in those few seconds you locked eyes,

 

You saw flashes,

 

 

 

_A being of inhuman height,_

 

_Tenaciously fighting for your life,_

 

_Blood, being splattered all across trees, sometimes landscapes,_

 

 

 

_The blood of friends?_

 

 

 _Comrades_?

 

 

 

_Ordering inspiring youth,_

 

_Dictating coups,_

 

_Cleaning cobwebs, stables, dining rooms, storage rooms,_

 

_Drinking wine, by the pale moonlight as bright as the morning sky,_

 

_Sitting in dungeon cells, beds, rocking chairs,_

 

 

 

_Kissing a brown-haired, tan skinned subordinate, while carding your hands in his hair,_

 

 

   You look down, and then up again. The other’s eyes drawing you in, he’s tan, he’s got brown hair, cool eyes, obviously taller than you, and that’s evidently all you know about him, because you and he are supposedly just strangers.

 

 

But again, it’s as if, you’re not.

 

 

He was in that one last flash,

 

You try and fail to deny it.

 

 

And something inside you,

 

 _Deep_ inside you, spoke quiet volumes.

 

 

Hushed tones of

 

 

_‘He’s back’_

 

 

_‘Don’t leave me’_

_‘I’m sorry’_

 

 

 

‘ _I love you’_

_I love you?_

He’s young, a troublemaker, expression showing confusion, probably an idiot, you barely know him but despite understanding all that

 

     you want to kiss him,

 

                you want to hug him,

 

                            tell him everything is alright.

 

 

 

                                                 That you love him and that he loves you and you were meant for each other,

 

 

 

 

 

       But you aren’t.

 

 

                 You don’t know him,

 

 

                  He doesn’t know you.

 

 

You pass each other silently, shoulders making agonizingly miniscule contact.

 

You shakily take a step forward and for some reason your vision blurs,

 

Your hand comes up to wipe an eye and you’re shocked because you’re crying.

 

One last mumble of “I’m sorry” from the _stranger_ and you flinch and look back,

 

 

 

           his figure seeming to retreat into the shadows of six in the evening.

 

 

You stare longingly, wanting to call out but you can’t because you can’t seem to say anything,

 

 

        you’re stuck

 

                 and you’re miserable.

 

Why would you feel this way for a man you just passed by in the park?         

 

Your silent streams of tears channel into a vast ocean of sobbing and you have to hold yourself to stop shaking and keep in the volume.

 

 

You regain slight confidence, just to try and for one last time search for him again, but you already know,

 

 

He’s gone.

 

Not anywhere in sight.

 

 

It’s okay; you’re going to be okay.

 

 

He’s just some stupid brat you met in the park, nothing special, nothing worth stressing over.

 

 

You take a steady breath, supporting yourself, taking minutes to again regain composure.

 

 

   When you’re ready, you take a cautious step and take off to your apartment, steps stomping as loud as the thumping of your painfully clenched heart, the supposedly make-believe hole that it houses, and the feeling of loss and utter betrayal.

 

 

 

The book you bought is full of bullshit and you’re returning it ASAP.

 

_Stomp, stomp, stomp_

 

There is _no secret_ to happiness,

 

_Stomp, Stomp_

 

There _is_ no happiness.

 

_Stomp_

 

 

_Because_

  

           this afternoon, while taking a walk in the park, a boy made you cry.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ao3 messed my formatting, italicized words and spacing up ;c i found re-reading this way better on word haha
> 
> hope you didn't feel too sad i tried to make it less sad because i dont want to see anybody sad ;0; )o
> 
>  
> 
> more stories to come!


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